


Realignment

by freckles42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Major Character Injury, Post - Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckles42/pseuds/freckles42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cedric survives the Maze of the final challenge and there are consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realignment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minisinoo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=minisinoo).



* * *

_Whump._

The Cup was a portkey.

The TriWizard Cup was a portkey and _Harry Potter was dead._

As he lay stunned on the ground at the entrance to the maze, Cedric tried to align these two thoughts together. It was like forcing matching polarities together – repulsive, in the most literal sense of the word.

Colours, faces, hands, stars above, the smell of crushed grass and rhubarb (rhubarb? Had his mum been cooking again?), shuddering ground from footsteps, and then the sudden rush of the return of voices as his hearing suddenly found itself, though his breath had not yet caught up. Someone tugged the Goblet from his hands and flung it carelessly aside.

"That’s my boy!" a familiar voice crowed, suddenly pulling Cedric upright and clutching him tightly. His father. "You’ve done it! You’ve won!"

A pair of hands roughly pushed Amos Diggory away from his son, and Cedric found himself looking into Mad-Eye Moody’s contorted face. The magical eye was, for once, not spinning wildly but instead was keenly focused on the dirty face before him.

"He’s dead," Cedric croaked, his hands suddenly covering the professor’s as they clenched his shirt, supporting him like a rag doll. Moody’s hands were rough but strong, solid, and Cedric clung to them as a drowning sailor clings to a scrap of wood from his sinking ship.

"What was that, boy?" Moody said, voice dangerously quiet.

"Harry," Cedric whispered, tasting his name on his tongue. Wood polish, treacle tart, ripe quidditch kits, and the smell-taste of the faintly pine-scented soap spell Harry used. 

"Who’s dead? Who is dead? What is he talking about? Someone let me through; I’m the Minister for Magic, don’t you know anything? Now step aside!" Sharp. Grating. Sounds of twisting metal. Cedric winced.

"No," a firmer, quieter voice – old books, wise words, silky bourbon and lemon drops – interjected, stilling the Minister in his path.

Moody’s hands released him and, much to Cedric’s relief, his face was replaced by Dumbledore’s and not Fudge’s.

"Where’s Harry, Cedric? Did you see him?" His eyes, which normally seemed to dance and twinkle, were now dark and dangerous. Cedric shivered involuntarily, suddenly getting a glimpse of the powerful wizard that lurked beneath the Headmaster’s usually cheerful demeanor.

"Dead," Cedric said again, breaking eye contact as the scene behind Dumbledore spun dangerously. He thought he glimpsed Professor Moody stalking into the maze. "No use looking in there." He shook his head. "He’s gone, Headmaster. You-… You-Know-Who killed him."

Saying the words brought a terrible, crashing reality to the truth and Cedric welcomed the nothingness of unconsciousness, thinking: _It should have been me._

* * *

Noises, again, but this time as though underwater and without the benefit of the Bubble-Head charm. The waves assaulted his ears, his face, his skin, making him cringe and moan. How was it that _sounds_ were so stifling, making him feel confined and bound down? He felt an unfamiliar constricting in his chest, and suddenly the tenor of the room changed. Why?

He looked down at his chest to discover that his left hand was clutching his bed-shirt, buttons threatening to pop from the stress. He could see his body bucking and contorting abnormally, and some part of his brain thought that it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. His muscles refused to respond to the logical part of his mind; he could feel the ragged edges of his nails pressing through the cloth and into his palms. The pain was unbearably real.

Pomfrey’s face appeared at the edge his field of vision. Cedric rolled his eyes wildly towards her, trying to make her see _him._

"He’s panicking," she said, eyes flicking across his features, silver-edged hair falling out from under her pinned-on hat. Orange peels, lemon scrub, antiseptic, peppermints. "Hold him down before he swallows his tongue," she commanded the male-shaped figures around him.

No, Cedric tried to protest, but the words wouldn’t form. He was fine, he just... Oh _gods._ The constriction in his chest felt like someone had tied strings to every nerve in his body and now was trying to draw them all sharply into his heart. Hands found purchase on his shoulders, arms, legs, ankles. Another hand pressed his head down into the pillows and a familiar voice – Father-feeling? – spoke words that had the shape of comfort.

"Cedric, you have to breathe," Pomfrey urged, wand passing over his chest and his hand. Her words, above all others, made it through the muddled haze and into Cedric’s brain. "If you can hear me, child, for Merlin’s sake, _breathe._ "

She made it sound as if it were a simple act, but it wasn’t. The power it took to force air into one’s lungs, then back out again was a strength to be reckoned with. Cedric didn’t know if he had the strength to do it anymore.

Then, as though something in his chest had given way, there was a sudden rush of cool air absolutely _flooding_ his lungs. Hands released him as quickly as they had taken hold, and Cedric found himself gasping for air like a beached mermaid.

"That’s it, child," Pomfrey soothed, wand passing over him again. She smoothed the hair back from his forehead.

"Harry," Cedric managed to get out, forcing his tongue to form the words. His mouth tasted strange, like he’d licked a goblin’s back. "Oh, gods, I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he choked. "Harry –"

"That’s enough, Cedric," a calm, authoritative voice said, silencing the Hufflepuff. Dumbledore stepped closer to the bed and pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose, peering at the Champion.

"I think," he said quietly, "that Cedric and I should speak." Cedric’s eyes held Dumbledore’s. His chest was still heaving, though it was slowing down.

"Alone," he added, raising a hand to preemptively silence the nurse’s objections.

Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue disapprovingly and pressed a cold washcloth to Cedric’s forehead before stepping away, herding the others away. Cedric’s eyes flicked to his father’s retreating form, a knot forming in his stomach. The steps faded away and then were followed by the firm click of the infirmary door shutting. The Headmaster’s head remained inclined, listening intently until all was silent save for the gentle fall of the hourglass on the nurse’s desk.

"Well," Dumbledore said amiably, suddenly animated. He pulled up a stool and sat down upon it, casually removing an errant spider from its perch on the hem of his robes as he settled in. The spider, once freed to the windowsill, set about making a new home between some potions bottles.

"You’ve had quite the adventure, Cedric Diggory," Dumbledore observed, lips quirking enigmatically. Cedric’s eyes flicked back to the Headmaster. "And I daresay it’s likely that it’s just the beginning for you, but," he said, looking over the rim of his glasses in a way that unsettled Cedric, "I also daresay that I believe you are up to the challenge."

Cedric just stared at him, then tried to swallow so he could speak.

"No, Cedric, don’t talk," Dumbledore said quietly. "You’ve spoken enough, and Poppy will have my beard for stew if I let you exhaust yourself. So just listen. You’ve always had top marks, so I know you can."

Strangely relieved, the Hufflepuff nodded, his hand finally relaxing from his pajama top. Dumbledore seemed to note this with a smile before speaking.

"What you saw yesterday was precisely what you thought it was. Voldemort has returned." His face turned more grave. 

"And Harry -?" Cedric couldn’t help but ask. He’d _seen_ that man throw the Killing Curse, he knew. Harry might have survived it once, as a child, but not again. There was no way, not the way that his body had crumpled as Cedric had blindly reached for the TriWizard Cup. And yet, despite knowing what he’d seen, there was still some hope that somehow Harry’s charm had won again, and Cedric had to ask.

At that, Dumbledore looked away, shoulders tightening.

"You saw what happened," he said quietly, gaze finally returning to Cedric’s face, though not quite looking at him. "He’s gone." The Headmaster suddenly looked very old and weary. "We are at open war now, Cedric, and the lots have been cast. Voldemort has gathered his followers to him and sent spies into our camp. We have much to lose, but even more to gain."

The old man suddenly sat up, years slipping from his shoulders.

"Now," he said, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes, "I think that’s enough for the moment. Your father will want to be having a word, I believe, and he is entitled. There are others, of course, but it is entirely up to you as to whether or not you will speak with them." He reached out and patted Cedric’s hand. "We’ll be speaking again, of course."

As the Headmaster stood, Cedric couldn’t help feeling that was a bit of a threat and not at all the promise that it sounded.

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday gift for minisinoo. Was intended to be a multi-chapter AU but life stole the rest away.


End file.
